<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>a sense of the past by gumibea</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22613134">a sense of the past</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gumibea/pseuds/gumibea'>gumibea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>drive it like you stole it [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X1 (Korea Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:22:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22613134</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gumibea/pseuds/gumibea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"And i find that i can be drunk, drugged, ensorcelled, everything that could make me lose myself, but there is always always always you… that what i would fling away for you is every day more tremendous, yet I would fling it away for an hour like yesterday.”<br/>- A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin &amp; Henry Miller: 1932–1953</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cho Seungyeon | Seungyoun/Lee Hangyul</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>drive it like you stole it [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638265</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a sense of the past</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>*</p><p> </p><p>Seungyoun has trouble trying to pinpoint what exactly the feeling he has been experiencing lately is. It doesn’t happen regularly but when it does, his heart can’t help but swell with a sense of unknown sentimentality, somewhat gratifying yet soft. And in the mere second of the occurrence, Seungyoun feels like he’s thrown back to a day in the middle of the winter, in which the river that runs alongside his neighborhood appears still yet if he takes another closer look, it is still quietly flowing under the thinnest ice, waiting for the long time anticipated gentle touch of the sun; and the air, the air that bares nothing but the coldness caressing his cheeks and seeping into his clothes, spreading like a lacy tide on a empty wintry beach. There’s something about the winter in Seoul that Seungyoun really loves, the cold that fills his lungs with fresh crisp wind and his heart with a rare moment of catharsis, making him get giddy every time winter comes around and coffee just always tastes better during those winter days. That doesn’t really make sense, Seungyoun knows that, comparing the unpredicted gut feelings to the delight that winter brings him but he can’t help it. There are images, too; all glossy and dreamy, as if he was looking into a room through a glass wall that clouded with dust and tangled stretches of blue painting. He could make out the lines that embrace what is inside the room but cannot see it clearly. </p><p>“The Internet says it’s “Déjà Vu”, that probably explains, huh?” Wooseok says without looking up from his phone while stabbing the bacon slice on his tray with his other free hand.</p><p>“No offense,” Dongpyo chimes in, “But Seungyoun hyung has memory of a golden fish, so whatever you are feeling, or seeing must be what happened in your dreams the night before. I mean, that’s French, that literally means “Already seen” so why are you making it complicated?”</p><p>Seungyoun glares at Dongpyo, the kid has some nerves today, while mentally asking himself why he even mentioned this during their lunch break in the first place. He should have just searched the Internet or put up a question on Quora instead of bringing it up. Wooseok has gone back to his Instagram feed so Yohan is tempting to take the biggest piece of braised pork on his tray. Dongpyo just wants to shit on his memory because last week, he forgot to pick the younger up twice and Seungwoo, the old man of the group simply doesn’t care enough when he’s almost planting his face into the book he’s reading. This stuff does him no harm yet it irks him somehow. </p><p>“I  get it sometimes, too.” A voice raised from down the end of their usual group table and Seungyoun might or might not have turned his head a little too fast to catch the sight of Hangyul putting down his cup of smoothie and looking into Seungyoun’s eyes, his gaze is calculated and longing. Seungyoun nodded, feeling something slightly<em> shifted </em>.</p><p>“It doesn’t feel like a memory of a dream,” Hangyul continues, “It’s quite familiar but I don’t think it should be familiar. Shit, I’m bad at explaining this stuff. I sound ridiculous, don’t I?”</p><p>“No,” Seungyoun tries not to let out a soft laugh when he sees the rosy tint growing on the tips of Hangyul’s ears, the usual sign that appears every time the younger gets flustered with something so mundane that nobody in their group cares for, except Seungyoun. “It’s like we have lived through it once.”</p><p>“You two sound like pseudo-psychic girls on Twitter,” Wooseok speaks up, no sarcasm detected in his voice, “That’s it. I’m going to the library.”</p><p>Seungyoun doesn’t mind Wooseok’s remark nor what happens the next minute. Yohan stretches his arms a bit too quick and too far, hitting Wooseok who is still having his almost empty tray in his hands and the domino effects begin. Droplets of grape juices splattered on the cover of Seungwoo’s book and the eldest shoots Yohan’s death glares and there’s a bit of whiny complaining from Dongpyo, too. Seungyoun could see the youngest’s lips are moving but he couldn’t make out what he’s saying. Hangyul, with his best reflex, catches Wooseok’s back and still stays calm enough to laugh at Yohan’s guilty look spreading across his face. </p><p>Here comes the indecipherable feeling, Seungyoun bites the inside of his cheek. Can people compare laughter to a flood? A thought briefly flies over his head because Hangyul’s unfeigned laugh just sent a flood of warmth to his stomach and up his face. Be it a memory or a precognition, a past life experience, Seungyoun accepts it, as long as Hangyul is the one that stirs up the pond of unknown familiarity within him.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i've spent enough time on twt being a nutjob screaming "give me x1 back" so i gotta write seunggyul to keep my sanity.</p><p>*insert it's not much but it's honest work meme* this is just an average collection of seunggyul drabbles and oneshots i write sometimes.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>